A Bit of Old Carpet
by PlainJaneDoe
Summary: It's Christmas Eve and John & Sherlock are crouched in a snow dusted alley waiting for a criminal. Unexpected things occur... Oneshot. John/Sherlock.


"I really fucking hate you; you do know that, don't you? I have told you recently? Because I really fucking do."

"No you don't, John."

"No. No I do, and this is the last time I'm doing this. The very last time."

"I thought last time was the very last time?"

"Shut up."

Sherlock actually had the gall to snigger.

They were huddled together, squatted down by a wall in a surprisingly picturesque alley on Christmas Eve, surrounded by snow and concealed behind a dumpster. It was 11.30pm and John was feeling irritable to say the least.

"My socks are wet."

"Well maybe if you spent a bit more on shoes..."

"Oh, oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise £30 from M&S was cheap nowadays? Well I suppose next to your Goofy or bloody Christiano Dioro's they are."

John could hear Sherlock's eyes roll despite the fact he was staring hard at the rusting green paint straight flaking mournfully off the bin ahead of him.

"Gucci and Dior, John?"

Silence.

"I'm fairly sure you were referring to Gucci and Dior."

More silence.

"These are Dolce and Gabbana by the way..."

"I don't give a shit, stick them up your bloody jumper."

A lingering pause in which tension could be cut with a knife.

"I'm not wearing a jumper, but you are. However, I hardy think you'd appreciate my shoes up there."

John tore his eyes away from his rageful reverie to glare daggers at Sherlock, only to have them mercilessly shot down by the cheeky smile pulling at Sherlock's lips.

John tried with all his might to glare through the ache in his throat that was telling him to laugh, but it was too much. The force of it almost launched him from the wall and head first into the bins in front of them, but he just managed to catch himself in time, his lungs stinging from the effort of it as he pressed his forehead into his knee.

"Why do I hang out with you? Sod _being_ a doctor, I think I _need_a doctor."

"John, shush, he'll be along any minute."

"Who goes out thieving on Christmas Eve? Do these people not realise there is a warm bed waiting for me at home?"

"Did you honestly just ask that question? Crime doesn't take a break for the holidays."

"Yeah and neither do bloody we. We're going to catch a death out here."

Sherlock scoffed, "I wish."

"Yes, well you would," John smiled into his thigh as he shuffled about uncomfortably, "I think my legs are going to drop off. And I'm cold. And I'm hungry. And if he's not here by midnight then I swear to God…"

"Oh for Christ's sake," Sherlock grumbled, extending himself up to full height, towering over John as he rummaged about in the bin.

"What are you doing, you lunatic?"

Sherlock paused in his mission to frown at John as if what he were doing was ridiculously obvious before leaning fully into the dumpster, gangly legs flailing as he stretched to retrieve something.

John ducked, narrowly avoiding a shoe to the face as Sherlock returned carrying a musty piece of carpet.

"There's a carpet store around the corner, I saw the off cuts when we got here. Up," he instructed with a wave of his hand as John did as he was told.

After a couple of minutes of awkward shuffling and treading on each others toes, they were finally repositioned, now sitting down on a greying carpet square, Sherlock with his knees drawn up to his chest, John with his legs crossed, arms folded.

"Don't suppose there's a chow mein in that bin an' all is there?"

"John, for a Doctor you have appalling views on hygienic eating conditions."

"Well it's a good job I wasn't being serious then, isn't it?"

Sherlock simply sniffed in response, pulling his coat tight around him as he carefully scrutinised their surroundings.

Comfortable silence filled the air between them as they stared out into the darkness, John tapping out a barely audible jaunty rhythm on his knee in time with Sherlock's clouded breaths.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"That tapping."

"Tapping? Oh you mean this?" John started up again, this time with increased fervour as he slapped out 'Jingle Bells', now incorporating the bin with every third beat.

Like a viper, Sherlock's hand shot out to wrap around John's fingers mid jam session, "If you're not careful, he'll hear you."

"Who will hear me? There's nobody bloody here!" John twitched his fingers, still trapped inside of Sherlock's.

"You are insufferable, just please be quiet. If only to let me think."

Sherlock turned his head away to peer down the alley as John stared at their still practically entwined fingers.

John pondered what he was seeing for a moment, realising he'd waited far longer than was acceptable to point out Sherlock was still holding his hand. He shuffled awkwardly and cleared his throat, to which Sherlock seemed to naturally drop his hand in order to rummage around in one of his many pockets.

John refolded his arms somewhat disappointed as he too went back to surveying the alley, still bouncing both his knees in time to the Christmas jingle in his head, something Sherlock didn't seem to find too distracting.

Time ticked on as they continued to sit in perfect silence. John was getting more and more bored by the second as he fidgeted on the spot.

"My bum's cold," he grumbled, wiggling a little more to prove his point.

Sherlock blinked at him, his lips a perfect frowning line as he watched John shuffle uncomfortably.

"I mean it's alright for you, you have that big long coat covering your arse, and what do I get? Bloody one layer that's what. It would be nice if you could tell me when we're going to be sat out in the snow all night so I can dress accordingly..."

"John, what did I say?"

"Yes, yes, he'll hear us, the imaginary criminal who's not coming will be sitting up in his cosy bed right now, roused from his slumber by the sound of my misery and thinking 'Wasn't there something I was meant to do tonight? Oh no, of course not, it's fucking Christmas eve!'"

"John!"

"Sorry, sorry, I did get a bit loud then, didn't I?"

"You did, yes."

"Well I apologise."

"Apology accepted."

More silence, but John's boredom raged on.

"John."

John was now humming Jingle Bells. He pointedly ignored Sherlock because he'd just noticed it had passed midnight.

"John, seriously now."

The tapping resumed on a somewhat smaller scale than before, the rattle of the bin now absent from his orchestra.

"John, please."

"Jingle all the way... Oh what fun it is to ride on a..."

"John. Shut up. Please shut up."

A moments silence where John allowed Sherlock to think he'd won, cracking a small devious smile at the evil plans in his head, "... one horse open sleigh, OHHHHHHH! JINGLE BELLS..." John was quite rudely cut off in his prime by a hand clamping angrily over his mouth.

When he dared look up from the alabaster fingers blocking his carol singing he was met with fierce grey eyes that spoke volumes of rage.

"John, I have asked you nicely. I have asked you nicely numerous times and I can barely even believe it has gotten to this stage but I will tape up your mouth if I must."

"Mmmmrmrmff."

"No, I don't think you can be trusted yet, John."

John did his best puppy dog eyes.

"And that's not going to work on me either."

Right, OK then, looks like he was going to have to resort to the same dirty tricks he had employed against Harry when they were younger and she'd slapped hand over his mouth for a moments peace.

His mind, made up, he threw Sherlock his best 'Oh, you want to play this game, do you?' eyes as he opened his mouth to swipe his tongue over Sherlock's palm.

What happened next was quite unexpected.

Sherlock shivered. And it wasn't a shiver from the cold, John could recognise low temperature tremors, this was something completely different.

John's eyes widened as his eye line met Sherlock's; his pupils dilated and his mouth ever so slightly slack in surprise. John's heart was hammering and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears as his mind warred with what to do next.

Tentatively, he opened his mouth again, eyes still focused entirely on Sherlock as he traced his tongue gently along the crease in Sherlock's palm and up between his fingers as far as he could reach.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered closed as he exhaled a shaky sigh, causing John to dig the heel of his palm into his thigh to distract from the suddenly very present ache in his crotch. He battled with his own eyes that threatened to close as he discovered something very unexpected that he would quite gladly do for the rest of his life.

John continued to stare at Sherlock's closed eyes as he repeated the action, this time swirling his tongue completely over Sherlock's palm and then up and over his fingers, fighting the confusing urge to pull the digits into his mouth and suck them, instead pushing forward as Sherlock pushed back to nip at the base of his index finger.

Sherlock's breaths were coming faster now as John watched in awe as the man slowly came undone in front of him. He finally opened his eyes, treating John to the most exquisite look of lust and arousal that John had ever seen.

"John, I..." Sherlock breathed, his breath curling between them before disappearing completely, but John didn't let him finish...

John wrapped his fingers around Sherlock's wrist to drag his hand away, the ache in the pit of his stomach too overwhelming to deny any longer.

In a flurry of limbs, John pulled Sherlock forward with his free hand at the nape of Sherlock's neck to feverishly crush their mouths together, licking Sherlock's upper lip in one broad stroke before prying his mouth open to delve inside.

Sherlock tasted and felt like everything John thought he never would. Instead of tasting of London air, gun powder and coffee, he tasted of winter snow, bergamot and the faintest hint of peppermint. Instead of being cold and unresponsive, Sherlock gave as good as he got, pushing with every pull and pulling with every push until John sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and climbed on top of him with a luxurious groan, his feet nudging the bin to scrape through the snow giving them more room; the only vague reminder of where they were.

John shuffled forward until his knees were touching the wall and his front was flush against Sherlock's. The sensation was divine as they both fought in equal measure to pull the other ever closer. Sherlock's hands found themselves at the small of John's back and John shivered with a murmured groan as his cold fingers pulled his shirt free of his jeans so that they could snake their way up over his hips and trace his sides, giving John goosebumps with every fresh inch explored.

Sherlock groaned into John's mouth as John pushed his hips forward unconsciously, causing them both to break apart momentarily and stare at each other as if in permission.

"John if this is too fast, I'd rather you say because I don't want you to think..."

At this point, John removed Sherlock's hand from its position on his hip and placed it confidently on the erection straining through his jeans. He flushed and cleared his throat before speaking.

"How's that for fast?" he said, unable to keep a straight face when under the terrifying yet oddly pleasant gaze of a confused but horribly aroused Sherlock Holmes.

"Right. Right, yes. Yes, ok. That. Let's do that."

John smiled widely, "Shut up," he breathed, before leaning back down to tongue Sherlock's mouth deeply.

John could feel Sherlock's heart hammering against his chest as his hands fumbled with John's belt buckle, thrusting up with John's every thrust forward and swallowing down his moans before returning them with his own.

It quickly became apparent that John's hand was still covering Sherlock's loosely, even as the man fumbled and pulled at his jeans. Finally coming back into himself somewhat, John quickly removed his hand to begin his attack on Sherlock's trousers, revelling in the hitch it caused to Sherlock's breathing.

Sherlock quickly freed John from his jeans, leaving his boxers as the one remaining barrier between them. John felt the bite of cold air and immediately picked up the pace, tugging at Sherlock's trouser buttons until they pulled free so that he could push down the zip concealing his goal.

John groaned loudly as he found long fingers tracing his length firmly through his boxers and looked down to catch Sherlock staring back at him in complete adoration. John pressed their foreheads hard together as he pushed his hand down between them amongst the action to awkwardly rub at Sherlock's cock, straining and clearly leaking against the satin of his boxer shorts.

"Jesus Christ..." John murmured and had to smile at the absurdity of what was happening. His smile was quickly replaced with slack jawed pleasure, however, as Sherlock pulled the waistband of John's boxers away from his abdomen and over his cock, pushing it down under his balls and freeing him to the chill of the night air.

John immediately thrust forward seeking Sherlock who stretched his head up to bite at John's lower lip. John mimicked Sherlock's actions, pushing his boxers to one side and taking it one step further, wrapping his winter chilled fingers around his twitching cock.

Sherlock inhaled sharply, holding his breath with his eyes clamped tightly shut until John began to move, pushing down as best he could before pulling back up with a devilish flick of his wrist that made Sherlock writhe and pant in the most delicious way.

He did this a couple more times before he felt fingers clutch desperately at his wrist and pull him away.

"What's wrong?" John panted, his stomach twisting in horror.

Sherlock let his head fall back against the wall with a calming and measured intake and exhale of breath before looking back to John with the faintest hint of mischievous smile.

"I'm going to come if you keep that up."

John grinned in relief, "Well, that was the general idea, unless I've got this all horribly wrong..."

"That's not what I meant," Sherlock bristled with a smile, his head still loose on his shoulders as he observed John from below, "Just let me," he said finally, snaking one hand up John's side to rest above his hip whilst the other lined them both up perfectly.

John knew what he was getting at and couldn't help but wonder if this was possibly the best Christmas he'd ever had. He took a deep breath before placing his hands either side of Sherlock's head against the wall, rocking himself forward to gain a hint of what was to come as he felt the slide of his cock against Sherlock's.

"You're beautiful like this," Sherlock murmured with an expertly concealed gasp, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against John's as he wrapped his fingers around the both of them and began his rhythm.

John groaned as the electricity of Sherlock's touch and Sherlock's cock against his raced up and down his spine, pausing to dance in the pit of his stomach before shooting back up to make his hair stand on end.

He opened his mouth to groan to find the sound swallowed by Sherlock as he traced his lips with his tongue, his breathing coming faster and faster. John drank it all in, drank in the sensation of the mortar beneath his fingers, the burn in his knees, the pulsing in his balls, the cold biting at the small of his back, the fiery heat that was their arousal, throbbing in tandem as Sherlock worked faster and harder. But most of all John drank in Sherlock. The look of abject ecstasy in his otherwise calm grey eyes, the way his lips quirked with every upward pull, the taste of him on his tongue and smell of sex in the winter air. It was deliciously erotic and it made John question why they hadn't done this sooner.

Sherlock's thighs were trembling beneath him as he rubbed them both and he was gasping short, desperate moans that John breathed in happily until he was high on the carbon dioxide. Sherlock was nearing the edge of release audibly, something John found devious pleasure in as he began to twitch his hips in time with Sherlock, his fingers flexing against the brick as he too lost himself in the feeling of his impending orgasm.

Very much without warning, Sherlock came with a primal cry that left John shuddering with intense need. He felt broad ribbons of come spatter across his half exposed stomach before the hot substance dribbled down over Sherlock's fingers, acting as the perfect and most weirdly arousing lubricant John could have ever hoped for.

Sherlock picked up his pace; working John relentlessly, his softening cock still trapped against John's, driving John insane with lust.

John shamelessly bucked his hips into Sherlock's hand as he finally lost all control of himself, coming with an unabashed sob that echoed loudly off the brick around them.

They sat perfectly still as close as before, sticky, hot and generating their own steam as their breathing gradually normalised.

Eventually, John leaned back with a content sigh, looking down at Sherlock through hazy eyes before leaning to lick up an errant line of come that had found its way up Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock sighed into John's travelling tongue, waiting for him to work his way up along his jaw and over his mouth in order to catch his lips against his own to taste themselves on his lips.

"Well, Merry Christmas," Sherlock said, more than a little breathless when they broke apart.

John closed his eyes, rolling his head along Sherlock's before turning to rest his cheek against him, "I think that was possibly the greatest Christmas present I've ever had. Better than socks. I'd take that over socks any day of the week."

Sherlock hummed sleepily in response, his fingers twitching into John's thighs.

"Oh shit!" John pulled back immediately, looking around them quickly, "Our guy, I bet he came along, saw what we were up to and buggered off. Shit."

Sherlock shook his head in a typically non-committal fashion, "No. He's not coming."

John paused in his crude efforts to clean them both up to take Sherlock's face in his hands and turn him towards him, "Excuse me?"

Sherlock stared blankly at him with an expression that John had come to learn was the face of a scheming Sherlock Holmes caught scheming.

"You planned this didn't you?"

Sherlock blinked, the quirk of his lips his only betrayal.

John breathed a laugh, "You bloody great twat."

"I have to say though, John, it went far better than I ever could have expected..."

"Too right it did!" John scrubbed a hand through his hair but couldn't help but release the giggle rising in his throat, "You shit."

Sherlock smiled innocently before pulling John back into a quick kiss.

"Right, come on then, no use shagging out in the snow when we've a perfectly good bed at home."

John shook his head in disbelief as he scrambled unsteadily to his feet, doing up his trousers before extending a hand to Sherlock to help him up.

"You owe me new socks," John grumbled with a sniff as they made their way home.

"Yes, John."

"And new shoes."

"Yes, John."

"And a bloody great shag for keeping me out in the snow for hours on Christmas Eve."

Sherlock sniffed, "The minute we get through the door, John," he said with a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: HELLO THERE! Right, I'm sorry for my horrendous absence of late. A lot has been happening and with it being so close to Christmas I haven't had much time to focus on my projects (Tea & Romance), instead only managing the occasional drabble and oneshot. I hope they tide you over for now and T&R should return with a glorious new chapter in the new year. xx**


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